The Last Marauder
by Parisa
Summary: After Sirius's death, Remus goes to Grimmauld place to help sort out some old things. After a somewhat somber first chapter, fun Marauder-era flashbacks ensue. My first fic, so... yes. PG-13 for slight swearing and mild slash to come.


**The Last Marauder**

  
  
Disclaimer- Characters, places, and events mentioned in the Harry Potter books all belong to J.K. Rowling and various other people with better things to do with their time than write fanfics. Rather obviously, I am not included amongst them.  
  
Author's Note- So... I've been reading fanfiction for quite some time, but this is my first serious attempt at writing it. Well, I say serious, but I suppose I also mean Sirius. Sirius and Remus, to be exact, which brings me to my second point. Slash. Yes, there is a little bit of it, nothing graphic or anything, but if it bothers you, I wouldn't suggest reading on. What with it being my first time and all, reviews and constructive criticism would be _greatly_ appreciated, but flames will simply turned around on the flamer themselves and used to roast their bottom to a crispy golden brown. Thanks!   
  
"Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
It was cool, for the summertime, as the remnants of a somewhat out-of-season rain lingered in the air, the breeze, and showed in large wet puddles along the walkway of Grimmauld Place. Having just trapsed through those very puddles, Remus Lupin, Harry Potter, and Molly and Ron Weasley were assembled just outside the door of the former House of Black. His hand wrapped loosely around the doorknob, Lupin spoke again.  
  
"Harry, are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
"What? Oh, yeah. I'm sure," came the reply of a slightly nervous looking Harry, his black hair in more of a disarray even than usual.  
  
For a moment, Mrs. Weasley looked as if she was going to launch into a speech about how they all knew that this might be uncomfortable for Harry, and that she was entirely willing to take him back to the Burrow if he wanted. However, she was interupted by the loud creaking of the heavy door, as Lupin twisted the knob and pushed it forward. The four of them peered into the unlit entry way of the old house; it appeared to not have been dusted, or indeed cleaned in any way, since Sirius's death, a fact that was made plainly obvious by the appearance of a large rat skittering rapidly across the floor, right in front of their eyes.  
  
"C'mon Harry," Ron called, having made his way to the doorway, with one foot already inside. Harry followed, forcing a smile and gently pushing his way past Lupin and Mrs. Weasley, quick to get done what they had come to do.  
  
Sirius's house, untouched and uninhabited (save a crotchety old portrait and Kreacher the mad house elf) since the unspeakable incident in the Department of Mysteries earlier that year, still held numerous posessions that he would have wanted Harry to have, as well as a few of Sirius's boxes that had never even gotten around to being unpacked. Harry had been with the Weasleys for the latter part of the summer, so they and Lupin had decided to get together and sort out some old things.  
  
"Who's there? Who's there, I say!" came the unmistakable screech of Sirius's mother. Her likeness, that is, hanging somewhere to Harry and Ron's left.   
  
"Harry Potter," said Harry lamely, his godfather's mother being the last person he felt like dealing with, especially considering the circumstances. Ron gave an apathetic wave, picking up a stack of papers on a desk and shuffling through them.  
  
"Harry Po- Oh," the portrait replied, not even making an attempt to disguise the contempt in her voice, and immediately erupting into a full-blown scream. "FILTHY HALF-BLOOD, DISGRACING MY HOME! OUT! OUT WITH YOU!!!"  
  
Rather taken aback with her sudden outburst, Harry found himself tripping his over own foot and steadying himself against Ron's desk. "Oh, do shut up, will you!" Ron called, not even bothering to look up from the papers, most of which were old birthday or holiday cards.  
  
"YOU... YOU... ASSOCIATING WITH THAT DESPICABLE BLOOD TRAITOR THAT I'M FORCED TO CALL A SON! HASN'T BEEN HOME IN MONTHS TO SEE HIS POOR MOTHER AND IT DOESN'T BOTHER ME ONE BIT!!!"  
  
Pushing himself forward from the desk and looking furiously in the direction of Mrs. Black, Harry took on an angry tone of his own. "Would you like to know _why_?" he asked over an overbearing string of insults. "Would you?!"  
  
The shrieks stopped abruptly, her voice now cool, but no kinder. "I'm listening."  
  
Ron watched all this with frustration, his ears going slightly red, entirely sure that Hermione would be able to handle this situation much better than he could ever even think of doing. He opened his mouth to comfort his friend, but closed it just as quickly, deciding that it would be best for Harry to get it all out.  
  
"Because he's de-" Harry started, his voice cracking on the word. "Because he's dead!" Glancing behind him, he realized that Lupin and Mrs. Weasley had followed them inside, and were now just a few feet away from them. Harry stepped backward a bit, letting Molly pull him into a hug. "He's dead! Not that it'd matter to you..."  
  
"He's dead?" Mrs. Black asked, looking pleasantly suprised at this turn of events. "Dead? Well good!"  
Ron looked helplessly toward his mother, who had now let go of Harry, but was still looking him over sympathetically. "Ron, come along," she said, briskly and then turned toward Lupin. "I think it'd be better if we did this some other time, by ourselves. Don't you?"  
  
Lupin nodded, biting his bottom lip, his brows drawn tightly together. "That... would probably be best, yeah."  
  
"Hey, look at this!" Ron exclaimed, still halfway across the room, despite his mother's orders. Between an ancient thank-you card and even more ancient Potions scrolls, Ron had pulled out a Wizarding photograph of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs that appeared to have been taken sometime during their last two years of Hogwarts.  
  
"Let me see that," Lupin said, the photograph somewhat lightening the mood of the room, despite the less-than-pleasant background music of Mrs. Black's screams. Ron stepped forward, handing it to him. As he peered down at the picture, a minature, seventeen-year-old Sirius gave him a cheery wave, shaking his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes. Peter and James looked to be carrying on a conversation of sorts, although no doubt it had something to to with how great a Quidditch player the latter was. He, himself, was sitting cross-legged on the ground pouring vigorously over some textbook or another. Typical.  
  
"Harry?" he asked, glancing toward the near mirror-image of his old, great Quidditch player of a friend.  
  
"Yeah?" Harry inquired, wiping the last remnants of angry tears from his eyes.   
  
"I want you to have this and... and I think he would have, too." Lupin extended his hand, letting the photo slide into Harry's.  
  
"Wow... thanks," Harry replied, examining the little people and their little activities. Mrs. Weasley tapped him on the back gently, directing him toward the door and made a rather exhasperated motion for Ron to follow them.  
  
"Come on, you two," she said, making her own way back outside. An inquiring look in Lupin's direction caught his attention and he shook his head.  
  
"No, I think I'll stay on for a bit, actually," he said, waving as they all said their goodbyes.  
  
Upon hearing the final slam of the door, Lupin carried himself rather limply into the sitting room, tracing his index finger along the mantle just above the fireplace and studying the pictures on the walls almost religiously. Some were of him. After circling the room a good three times, he finally let himself fall backward onto the sofa, landing with an uncomfortable _thunk_. It had been hard to accept, of course, that his best friend was dead, but he knew that the Order was a worthy cause to sacrifice your life to. Or was it? Sometimes, he didn't know. Sometimes, like right now, selfish though he may have thought it, he wondered why everyone had had to leave him. Shuffling through the clutter atop the coffee table by his feet, he found another photograph of himself and his three best friends all together, though they were younger, perhaps fourteen, in this one. For some reason or another they were outside and Sirius was perched, with absolute nonchalance, in a tree. Lupin almost cracked a smile, but instead bit down on his lip again without even realizing he was doing it. The realization didn't come until roughly three minutes later when, while studying the faces in the picture, he tasted a sudden surge of blood.  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
Pulling a greying hankerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at his lip, though still keeping his eyes on his friends. James had been gone for fifteen years; Peter, though he wasn't dead, might as well have been; and now Sirius was gone. _I'm the last one_, he thought. _I'm the last Marauder._  
  
This being a painfully distressing realization, Lupin quickly tossed the photograph back onto the table, childishly curling his legs onto the sofa underneath him. Covering his eyes with his hand, he attempted to soothe his now acheing head, although he knew that it would be close to impossible to do so. Pulling a throw pillow close to his chest, he slowly uncovered his eyes. On the wall, directly in front of him, he focused on a picture of just himself and Sirius at about sixteen. The darker haired boy had a mischevious grin on his face and two of his fingers positioned behind his friend's head as "bunny ears". Lupin's expression was one of loving exhasperation, sort of a "you are _so_ immature" look. Chuckling slightly despite himself, Remus remembered that day... remembered better times.  
  
_Another_ Author's Note- After this less-than-cheery chapter, it'll all be flashbacky Marauder-era fun, I promise! I'll try my best to update tomorrow, but I don't know how much time I have, meaning that in a worst-case scenario that it could be early next week. Hope you're enjoying it, though, and review if you'd like! ^_^ 


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